A Rose By Any Other Name
by The Almighty Cheez It
Summary: She might have once been Rose DeWitt Bukater. She might have once been close to becoming Rose Hockley. But she knew that for the rest of her life, she would be Rose Dawson.


As a blossoming young woman, Rose had spent plenty of time wondering how she would end up; whom she would marry, where they would live, what sort of social class they would fall under. At the age of sixteen, Ruth DeWitt-Bukater had introduced Rose to Cal Hockley, and at first, Rose was charmed by his good looks and heavy inheritance. Money had been a hefty issue to her as she was growing up, and at one point she hadn't been able to imagine herself in the company of anyone who wasn't as wealthy as – or more than – herself.

Her opinion of money had changed the moment Cal Hockley had proposed to her.

He had gotten down on one knee, as was tradition, and he had opened a velvet box with an oversized diamond inside of it. Rose had gasped appropriately, gazing at the extravagant jewel and knowing that it was worth more than her own life. Her appeased eyes had snapped onto the man before her as his voice – an uncomfortable baritone – began coaxing her into marriage.__

"Rose, this jewel is worth more money than you've ever had in your life. Just think_ marrying me will bring you many more jewels, more profligate than this. You'll be prosperous, Rose, well-nurtured, and elite. Marry me, Rose, and you can be so beautiful once you wear all of the items I have planned for you."_

He was never the type for romance, she had learned, but she had accepted his offer, because his promise intrigued her. He had kept to his vow, and showered her in all the riches she could have ever wanted.

But he treated her like a puppy rather than a wife; he considered her to be delicate, and he thought that she was dependant on him for almost everything. And the more he treated her as though she were a child, the more she began to resent her acceptance to his proposal.

A year passed. She was no longer impressed with Cal Hockley, and was not as excited as she should have been to become his wife.

* * *

She gripped the bars painfully, her fingers whitening from the pressure of her enclosed hands. Carefully, she moved her feet slowly in a clockwise direction, trying to turn around without slipping and falling over the railing.

In that moment, they both knew that she didn't want to commit suicide. It was the first time in her high-society life that she wasn't able to buy her way out of a situation. She had to make a mature decision, but she had lived her life with nothing but the easy way out. It seemed like habit, coming here to end her elegant existence.

As she looked at him, her eyes were a wide flurry of emotions; terrified, gratifying, bemused, despondent. She remembered his face, too. It was a youthful face, covered partially by flowing blond hair and noticeable due to the shining eyes that matched the sea. She had seen him as she stood over the deck on the floor above, watching as he conversed with his companion in his faded, obviously lower-class clothing. Her eyes had fallen on him that afternoon, but she had dismissed the tug of foreshadowing that lurched in her stomach. And now she was here with him again – alone, face to face, and threatening to kill herself.

He must have thought she was crazy. She even thought she was crazy.

He spoke, and his voice caressed her agonized mind like velvet. She hardly noticed when words came out of her own mouth; she was too focused on the sound of his voice. His know-it-all attitude both infuriated her and overjoyed her, but he seemed to understand that she didn't want to do this. He understood that she needed help.

He helped her come back over the railing – saving her when she slipped and was damn near close to a dreadfully excruciating death – and together, they collapsed onto the wooden deck of the ship. In that moment, she was free.

And she began questioning whether or not she really wanted to be Rose DeWitt-Bukater.

* * *

Numb. All she could feel was the meticulous stab of the thundering water, pouring into her heart. One day had passed, or perhaps it was a year; it felt like a lifetime. One lifetime of sitting on the _Carpathia_, snuggled into a blanket of thin material, material reserved for third-class citizens. Luxury was of no concern to Rose, however. Nothing was a concern to Rose, except for his words.

"_You jump, I jump."___

"Do you trust me?"__

"Never let go."

Her responses had all been infiltrated with awe, wondering how a poor boy she had met days before could influence her life in such ways. She had seen those sea-green eyes, and she had heard his honest confessions at the dinner table when he was treated after saving her. Cal had hated him from the off, but Rose was intrigued.

It had all been uphill from there, at least in the beginning.

A lower-class party, where she was not Rose DeWitt-Bukater, or a prospecting Rose Hockley. No. With Jack, she was just Rose. And she had never been so content in her life.

She wasn't sure when she had fallen in love, but it had happened along the line somewhere. Perhaps it was when he held her round the waist, singing in her ear as they flew together over the sea. Perhaps it was when his eyes feasted over her nudity, while his hand shook as he held the charcoal over his drawing book. Perhaps it was the crimson flush on his cheeks when they were hidden together in the backseat of that car, knowing with finality that lovemaking was inevitable. Perhaps it was when the iceberg hit, and that strange sense of cold horror washed over her as she clung to Jack for what felt like her life.

Or perhaps it was when she looked at him, knowing with tears that were too frozen to fall that he was slowly but surely slipping away from her. Her hands had been fastened over his own, and she couldn't move her head close enough to see the look in his sea-green eyes (the color of the traitorous sea) as his consciousness weakened. Jack, the strongest and most influential person in her life, was dying right in front of her, and her heart froze up along with the rest of her body as she realized it.

She had said her "I love you", which they both knew was a goodbye. And though Jack hadn't said it, she knew he felt it. She had fallen in love with him, and she was going to lose him.

* * *

When he asked for her name, her response was pure and instinctive.

She might have once been Rose DeWitt-Bukater. She might have once been close to becoming Rose Hockley.

But she knew that for the rest of her life, she would be Rose Dawson. And she told him as much while he scribbled away on his clipboard. 

* * *

_First Titanic fic. I think it's alright. I'll be writing more of these; I enjoy tragedy. Oh, & please excuse any mistakes. I haven't watched the movie since August of 2006, so I'm a bit rusty._


End file.
